


The Rage of Rivia

by Wolf_of_Death_Valley



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Blow Jobs, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hair-pulling, M/M, Male Slash, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, One Shot, Oral Sex, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Death_Valley/pseuds/Wolf_of_Death_Valley
Summary: Geralt hates Jaskier. Or, at least, he says he does. One more jealous husband is too many, and Geralt hauls Jaskier back to their room... but Jaskier isn't done for the night.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 116





	The Rage of Rivia

**Author's Note:**

> I left writing entirely for SEVEN YEARS, but this fandom brought me back. CC absolutely welcome.

Geralt hated Jaskier's company. That's what he told himself at every opportunity. The incessant noise, the bumbling through hunts, the ceaseless trouble with the wives of other men... the last one in particular annoyed Geralt. His frustration went beyond just having to rescue the idiotic bard after every third tryst; there was deeper anger. 

He had been groping in the dark trying to find the bright light of “why” in regards to this. Was it not more dangerous (and irritating) to have his work interrupted by the fool's disregard for his own safety, and having to rescue him? Somehow, no. Where did this lip curling, stomach-churning, desire to strike out come from? Geralt thought, after his long life thus far, that he knew his mind... but this anger over Jaskier's altercations with angry husbands eluded him. 

They were currently staying at an inn, and Geralt already sensed trouble. He'd seen the woman walk in with a man; his arm linked with hers, just hours before. But Jaskier, not one to ignore a pretty face (and the woman was comely, Geralt had to admit) had targeted her specifically – all love ballads and knowing looks from under his long lashes. Geralt could smell her arousal from where he sat across the room. 

“Not tonight”, he thought to himself, suppressing the desire to bare his teeth. Tonight, Geralt wanted nothing more than peace and quiet to go with the gentle softening of the world that ale brought. Lifting his mug and draining it quickly, he rose as Jaskier finished his final song. The bard was bowing, his eyes trained on the woman he'd been flirting with. _Not tonight_ Geralt thought again, like a spell replaying in his head. As Jaskier began to move towards the woman, her man busy laughing with his friend in the far corner, Geralt crossed the room in deliberately quick strides and grasped the bard's collar. Hauling him roughly in the direction of the stairs, he growled at his shocked and sputtering companion:

“No trouble tonight, bard.”

Jaskier quieted, his eyes downcast, and allowed himself to be led to their shared room. It wasn't until Geralt had shoved him through the entryway and shut the door that he spoke again. 

“What is the matter exactly, Geralt?” Jaskier didn't sound indignant or plaintive, like he typically did, but rather had spoken in measured tones as he sat down on the edge of the bed. It actually unnerved the Witcher slightly. Where were the rapidly spoken protests and complaints? The declarations that Geralt was an unfair beast? He exhaled sharply through his nose before answering.

“I have no desire to rescue you again in an hour or so, bard. The woman you were after is here with a man”, Geralt turned his head to stare directly into Jaskier's eyes, “a large one.”

Jaskier's features arranged themselves into a sad smile as he met Geralt's narrowed eyes. He hesitated before speaking, and again Geralt was taken aback. The bard usually chattered nonstop, with no regard for consequence. 

“... She was unhappy.” Jaskier said in a low voice, “Couldn't you tell?” 

Geralt reflected on the evening, brow furrowed slightly as he considered what Jaskier had said. Perhaps the woman had seemed uncomfortable as her man led her inside... that wasn't the point. Jaskier still asked for trouble by flirting with her. 

“That is not a reason to court a beating. I tire of rescuing you.” Geralt snapped, his attention removing to his armor, which was feeling uncomfortable instead of being a comfort, for some reason. Annoyed with a fastening that felt foreign in his hands in that moment, he didn't hear Jaskier cross the room.

“Let me.” 

The bard's clever fingers moved across the Witcher's body, freeing him of his armor as easily as they pulled a song from a lute. Geralt had automatically relaxed at Jaskier's touch; after so long traveling together he'd become accustomed to the bard's hands on him. Too many hard-won battles had required Jaskier to remove Geralt's armor and tend his wounds. Remembering that he was angry, Geralt stiffened and set his mouth into a disapproving scowl. 

“Thank you, Geralt. You truly do look out for me.” There was a wry tone there, bordering on sarcasm. “I'll have to write a song about the White Wolf battling cuckolded husbands.”

Geralt merely offered a hum that was more growl than real acknowledgment. The words chaffed somewhat. Why could Jaskier not simply sleep with women that were available, or pay for his pleasure as Geralt did? Questions... too many questions. Geralt felt a gnawing in his chest, and shut his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. Looking anywhere but at Jaskier was easier. Suddenly, hands were at his hips. He opened his eyes, startled.

“Would you like help with these as well?” Jaskier's face was turned slightly, the side of his neck exposed. Geralt didn't know why he couldn't look away from the sight of the bard's bare skin, and he stared hard. With his hair falling slightly in front of his eyes, Jaskier looked... Geralt struggled for a description. Without being able to see his eyes, Geralt was unsure of Jaskier's state of mind. Without thinking, he reached out and took the bard's chin in hand, and turned his head to face himself.

Blue. Cornflower blue. Geralt's breath hitched just a moment behind Jaskier's quiet gasp. That shade of blue, the feeling of hands upon his thighs, the closeness of the bard... some combination of these things stirred Geralt. His breeches became tight, and were he anything other than a Witcher, his face would have gone red with shame. His breathing quickened, as did his heart. Jaskier no longer looked sorrowful or contemplative. Now he appeared nearly predatory; a smirk contorted his lips, parting them the smallest amount and making him look somehow sinister.

“I said,” Jaskier began as his hands moved inward from Geralt's hips until they were far too close to his now obvious arousal, “Would you like help?”

His many years on the Path hadn't prepared him for this. Jaskier waited, watching him. Geralt was struck suddenly by a scent – the bard was lusting after him. His scent was heady and floral. It was captivating. Geralt swallowed hard and, feeling that he existed somewhere outside of himself, nodded.

Wordlessly, Jaskier undid Geralt's breeches. Geralt's mouth ran dry, and his normally slow-beating heart quickened even more. He felt powerless in this situation; a situation as unfamiliar and unnatural as he himself was. 

“Just tell me to stop if you change your mind”, murmured Jaskier as he finished unlacing Geralt's breeches and moved his hands to begin working the leather downwards, “I'll stop if you say so.”

Geralt shifted to allow Jaskier to work the breeches over his ass and down his thighs; trying to not focus on how his throbbing cock sprung forward now that it was free of its prison. Jaskier glanced at it with a widening smile. The bard seemed to take eons to work the leather breeches down Geralt's legs and over his ankles. Despite the situation, Geralt still questioned the bard's motives. How had there been no ridicule? It was plain as daylight that Geralt was hard as a green-as-grass pup. As Jaskier carefully folded up the leathers, Geralt felt frozen in place.

“Clearly, Geralt, you felt you had to intervene with the woman downstairs. However, I still intend to take my pleasure. After all, I've long believed a pent up artist convinces no one, and as such, makes no money”, Jaskier moved forward to kneel further between Geralt's legs, “...and no money means no hot baths for you.” Jaskier squeezed Geralt's inner thighs briefly, and the Witcher felt lightning shoot from his groin up to his throat. As a drop of pearly fluid beaded at the tip of Geralt's painfully hard cock, Jaskier hummed softly as he gazed at the Witcher's endowment. 

“That looks sore, Geralt.”

Against his will, a high-pitched whine escaped from Geralt's throat. Jaskier was a man, and as such, he should know not to joke about such things. He couldn't stop staring at the bard's lips, wonder how they'd feel around his... no. He shouldn't think such things. Not about Jaskier. Just as he'd had this thought, the bard reached out and stopped just short of Geralt's cock. Tilting his head slightly to one side like a young hound, Jaskier watched Geralt's face. It was all too much, and not enough. Geralt nodded again.

When Jaskier's hand met his bare flesh, Geralt thought his essence might leave his body altogether. The calloused fingertips, soft palms, and the white-hot heat of the other man's hand consumed his mind. Jaskier worked his way up and down Geralt's length in a way no other ever had – firmly but gently. He watched, stunned, as Jaskier worked his hand into a dance that was driving Geralt mad.

“You're welcome to tell me how you like it”, Jaskier said in a hushed tone, “I've wanted to do this for ages, and I'd like to do it right.”

Geralt clenched his teeth so hard that had he had his full wits about him, he'd worry they'd break. Taking rapid, shallow breaths through his nose, he responded,

“Faster.”

The bard complied instantly, playing his cock like a magnificent instrument. There was a sound Geralt couldn't identify at first, but he realized it was Jaskier speaking under his breath -  
“Melitele, but you're hard as stone... big and beautiful, just like the rest of you...” 

Geralt was not used to flattery, but it seemed that Jaskier was talking to himself; not trying to flatter. In the fog of pleasure, he spoke without consideration:

“Why not use your mouth for something better, bard.”

Jaskier gave a soft chuckle, along with a light squeeze on the base of Geralt's cock.

“As my Witcher commands.”

Stars erupted behind Geralt's closed eyes, and he arched his back while uttering a single 'fuck' as Jaskier's tongue touched the head of his cock. Wildfire destroyed his body; all that was left was his mind and the sensation of Jaskier slowly lapping at him. Just when he thought he could take no more, he felt soft lips press against the head of his cock, kissing him, and then opening around him.

Groaning, he reached out and grabbed Jaskier's shoulder. Digging his fingers in to stop from screaming as the bard moved down his length, he felt the low moan coming from the other man. Geralt thrust upwards into Jaskier's mouth on instinct, only to have hands press against his hips. 

“Hmm, none of that please. Just let me take care of you” Jaskier whispered.

So close... so very close. Usually, Geralt could rut all night and not tire, but this... it was intimate, and he felt near to finishing before he'd typically consider himself starting.

“Jask... close...” he panted as the bard sped up to engulf him and leave him wanting again faster than any whore Geralt had ever paid. His breaths came faster and his muscles clenched. Jaskier moved like his life was at stake now; lips pressed against Geralt's length tight, his tongue swirling over the head of the Witcher's cock in delicious circles that brought Geralt to the brink of madness. Grunting, he moved his hand to the back of Jaskier's neck. He rested it there, but didn't exert any pressure. 

His pleasure mounting, Geralt let out a moan distorted by gritted teeth, and he felt the vibration of Jaskier laughing around his sizable challenge. Geralt was both irritated and near to completion, so in his frustration he took a fistful of the bard's hair and forced him down to the hilt of his length. “Jask” was all that came from his mouth, as his body gave in and filled Jaskier's mouth. The bard swallowed it down eagerly, as if relishing the greatest of treats at a banquet. With a final lick against the tip of Geralt's cock, Jaskier pulled away. 

Taking Geralt's hands, Jaskier led him to the bed. Falling back, the last thing Geralt heard was the voice of his bard,

“Goodnight, my Witcher.”


End file.
